


tomorrow is another day

by thisisthenoid



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet, Can be seen as pairing, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lazy story, Men Crying, Self-Indulgent, Trust Issues, two stories in one, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-25 22:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthenoid/pseuds/thisisthenoid
Summary: ghosts of the past, terrors of the mind. the usual.





	tomorrow is another day

**Author's Note:**

> me on the 6th: nothing in life matters =(  
me on the 7th: nothing in life matters!!! =D  
it really do just be like that huh haha Fuck. the reason the pov is so broken on the first one is because

6/10/2019

'i don't want to feel like this anymore.'

'i know.'

'i'm sick of it. sick of it controlling my every waking moment. i wish it would go away.' woodie doesn't respond, he just strokes wilson's ruined hair from where he's bundled in his lap. 'it's. it's never going to go away, is it? not fully.' he sounded so broken, so exhausted. it breaks woodie's heart.

'i ... i ain't gonna sit here and tell you it's gonna get better, eh,' woodie says instead, all grave and hard hitting. 'jus'. some days are easier to have than others. an' i hope me being here makes it a little more bearable.'

'i'm so _tired_. i want every day to be easy, even if i'm on my own.' the tears begin to fall, sliding down his cheeks and sinking into his patch and woodie's shirt. he lets out a sob and turns his head into woodie's stomach, claws covering his patched face in an attempt to stop crying, hiding away from everything. woodie's face is just as contorted with pain as wilson's. 'i'm so tired, woodie.'

'i'm here.' woodie murmurs, because he is, and he can't think of anything else to say. one gloved hand continues to stroke his hair, the other rubbing up and down his bicep in a slow rhythm. he wants to cry too.

'i don't want to be like this anymore. i want the pain to end. i want to be happy again.' his voice wobbles, a broken mess of emotions that have been stretched to their furthest limits with little hope of ever recovering. 'i've been like this for far too long, woodie. i just want to be normal. i want to be _happy_.'

'you're not weak.' woodie says without prompt and with a fierce defence, anger coiling around his heart in a vice that was aimed at a world long gone that he didn't even take a part in. 'you're not a weak person, wilson.' the hands come to a stop, resting against his head and arm in what he hopes comes across as comfort and not pity. 'you're not weak, and i'm sorry that you feel like this.'

wilson uncurls his arms from his face to wrap them around woodie's middle, dragging himself as close to the other as physically possible. he still cries, and woodie can feel the sobs vibrate up his chest and rattle his heart in an excruciating way.

'maybe it won't go away. not fully, anyway, but i promise, i'll be here. i promise i'll be here, to help you through the pain as best i can, eh.'

the bad days don't happen too often. it's once in a blue moon when that feeling of hopelessness, of bitterness, of suffocating sadness bites into him, sinks its teeth into him, doesn't let him go for what seems like days and days. all woodie can do in those days is hold him close and whisper promises of brighter tomorrows, however tasteless that saying has become.

'i'm sorry, woodie.' wilson sobs. he sobs and sobs and sobs, clutching tighter and tighter, the tears never coming to a stop. the wet patch on woodie's plaid grows with each sorry he mumbles like an open wound.

'i'm gonna help you.' woodie replies, planting a soft kiss in wilson's hair. he resumes his strokes, gently rocking wilson the best he can.

wilson doesn't believe him. even with how long they've survived together, he doesn't trust him. he doesn't_ let_ himself trust woodie; _can't_ let himself trust woodie. not after everything that's happened in his life. but he is a fool. he _craves_ this; the affection, the human closeness, the touch. he doesn't move from his spot, scrunched up against woodie's stomach, holding him for dear life, terrified to death of letting him go. the closeness was too intoxicating, too nice, too much to lose all in one go.

the voice in his head tells him that he's being too clingy, too over-baring, too much of a liability. that woodie will leave in the morning and never come back, and then what will he do? he would be alone again, without another voice to listen to, without another to _be_ listened to. no one would help him. he would have to relearn how to cope with his sadness on his own again. he would be hurt, _again_. when that day came, it would hit him ten times worse than now. the voice would snap_ told you so_. he daunted that day.

still, he doesn't move. he just continues to cry and say sorry into a damp shirt.

7/10/2019

'hey, woodie.' no response. '... ah. a bad day?' a very slight nod. 'that's okay.' he walks over to where woodie's slumped, eyes downcast, chin resting in a gloved hand, back turned to him. he doesn't turn to acknowledge wilson standing behind him, even when he says, 'i'm here for you.'

wilson puts a claw on his shoulder, a very slight touch, easy to brush away if he wanted. woodie's breath hitches, like he hadn't expected it, but he still keeps his gaze turned away. wilson could feel the very gentle tremors in the way he tried to keep a hold of himself.

he steps closer to woodie when he doesn't shy away, worry lining his expression, and before he can think of what he's doing, he moves the claw from his shoulder to wrap his arms around woodie's neck, hunching over so he can better hold him. wilson's chest pressed against woodie's back, not at all a tight hug - woodie could very easily nudge his way free. he presses the side of his cheek against the top of woodie's hair, and he feels rather than hears the sob that escapes woodie's throat, can feel the moment his resolve breaks and he lets it freely flow without shame.

one gloved hand swipes up to clutch one of wilson's arms, the other covering his face as he begins to cry, and it's like looking in a mirror. woodie both curls into himself and leans back against wilson, the emotions wracking through his body like earthquakes that send after shocks of grief into wilson.

'it's alright, i'm here.' wilson mumbles again, awkwardly stroking his hair, at a complete loss on how else to progress his weak attempts of comfort. he's never been very good at this human stuff. so he stands there, holding him close, whispering echos of what woodie had told him when their roles had been reversed. and from the way woodie begins to shake less and less and how his sobs grew in distance, filled in with more sniffles and hitches of breath, it seemed to be working.

'maybe today isn't a good one,' he says into woodie's hair in a low voice, and woodie finally uncover's his face, 'but there's always tomorrow. and i'm not going anywhere.' he takes a second to think over those words. '... well, i mean, if you don't want me with you, i can always go somewhere else, you know, to give you space-' he's cut off by a garbled chuckle, wet and shaky and emotional. the smile is still stretched on woodie's face all the same, and he wipes his eyes with a shaky hand.

'thanks, wils.' he gives wilson's arm a soft squeeze. 'thank you for being here with me, eh. i really do appreciate it.' and he means every word. he isn't 100% - they both think they'll never be 100% again - but he's not -100%, either. it's enough for wilson. he nods against woodie's head, heart blooming with affection, and he squeezes back in return.

they stay like that a while longer, woodie reigning it in and wilson holding him close, enjoying the quiet ambience of the morning together.

**Author's Note:**

> i havent been able to write anything solid in at least two months so it's a miracle that these survived at all, even if theyre bad and vent-y. also i still dont know how to tag stuff for shit hsdghfsdghdfs


End file.
